...more kink meme de-anon! Prompt was pretty much, "for some reason demons have invaded the human realm. modern weapons do not work on them, not unless they have been charged with magic of some sort (or blessed) so the older sorts are brought back (swords, axes, etc)." No any really overt pairings so far, I think. Hell, at the moment, it's just GIANT EXPLOSION OF CAST.

Erm. Thank you for reading, please crit and comment? m(_ _)m

The thing was, Romano was a coward. He'd be, well. He'd be the last to admit that, actually, but in the rare moments of self-honesty, he'd acknowledge it was the truth. Or that it was... a truth at least, the same way the fact he wasn't Veneziano was a truth. That it wasn't a good thing, but it wasn't all bad either (or so he hoped); there were some highlights that made it okay for it to be a truth about himself. He was a coward, but he was good at surviving.

So his feet were already moving before the scream finished, the sound high and unearthly and lingering, and Madre di Dio, what the fucking fuck? Instinct directed him through the lesser-used streetways and on toward home, even as he ignored the other, more human screams of his people.

Still, he had enough presence of mind not to forget the tomatoes.

...

"England, England!"

There were some days England wished the fae weren't so fond of him. Or at least that their voices wouldn't get so shrill.

It was, in England's opinion, far too early in the day to get all het up about anything. "Early" in this case meant "while he still had a hangover"; in truth it was fast approaching noon and he'd overslept by a good few hours. Not that it mattered overly much. He had no plans for the day. The fae, on the other hand...

"England!" The fae had moved on from just calling his name to actively tugging any part of him they could get a grasp on. "Trouble, trouble!"

"Trouble like- bloody hell, why are there redcaps in my home- Out! You'll drip everywhere!"

"Wretched things! Big trouble!"

And then, as if speaking of the trouble called it, the sky went black.

"Oh," he said. "I see." (Though he really didn't.) "That's bad, isn't it."

The cries got shriller. The hangover continued to pound painfully within his skull.

"Bully for us then," he groaned, and got up to find his spell books.

...

This was so not cool at all.

When the things had first showed up, America had thought maybe it was the movie production of his latest (awesome) thriller. It had made sense at the time - why else would projections of honest-to-God really creepy monsters be materialising from the ground? But the notion had been dashed as soon as the creatures began to move, ripping into nearby passersby with nary a thought.

There was no mistaking that. That was fear in the hearts of his people! And his hero senses were tingling. "Hey, stop that! Everyone, get away, I'll distract them!"

He couldn't quite suppress a shudder as he charged, however. The early morning mist hadn't quite dissipated yet. In fact, if he didn't know better, it seemed to be getting thicker...

...

Russia knew demons, knew sometimes the greatest devils were men themselves. But this cold, oh the cold.

Arms wrapped around him, its biting ice worse than General Winter. "Oh," the creature cooed. "You dear, dear child."

.

To be continued.